Warwick.
Where is the Post, that came from valiant Oxford?
How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow?

1 Mes.
By this at Dunsmore, marching hither-ward.

War.
How far off is our brother Montague?
Where is the Post, that came from Montague?

2 Mes.
By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop.

Enter Somervile.

War.
Say, Somervile, what says my loving Son?
And by thy guess how nigh is Clarence now?

Somerv.
At Southam I did leave him with his forces,
And do expect him here some two hours hence.

War.
Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum.

Somerv.
It is not his, my lord: here Southam lyes:
The drum, your Honour hears, marcheth from Warwick.

War.
Who should that be? belike, unlook'd-for friends.

Somerv.
They are at hand, and you shall quickly know. March. Flourish. Enter King Edward, Glocester, and Soldiers.

K. Edw.
Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a Parle.

Glo.
See, how the surly Warwick mans the wall.

War.
Oh, unbid spight! is sportful Edward come?
Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduc'd,
That we could hear no news of his Repair?

K. Edw.
Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city-gates,
Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee,
Call Edward King, and at his hands beg mercy?
And he shall pardon thee these outrages.

War.
Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence,
Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down,
Call Warwick Patron, and be penitent?
And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York.

Glo.
I thought, at least, he would have said the King;
Or did he make the jest against his will?

War.
Is not a Dukedom, Sir, a goodly gift?

Glo.
Ay, by my faith, for a poor Earl to give:
I'll do thee service for so good a gift.

War.
'Twas I, that gave the Kingdom to thy brother.

K. Edw.
Why, then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick gift.

War.
Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight:
And, Weakling, Warwick takes his gift again;
And Henry is my King, Warwick his Subject.

K. Edw.
But Warwick's King is Edward's prisoner:
And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this,
What is the body when the head is off?

Glo.
Alas, that Warwick had no more fore-cast,
But while he thought to steal the single ten,
The King was slily finger'd from the Deck:(20) ^note

K. Edw.
'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still.

Glo.
Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down, kneel down:
Nay, when? strike now, or else the iron cools.

War.
I'd rather chop this hand off at a blow,
And with the other fling it at thy face,
Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee.

K. Edw.
Sail, how thou canst; have wind and tide thy friend;
This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair,
Shall, while thy head is warm and new cut off,
Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood;
Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.

Enter Oxford, with Drum and Colours.

War.
O chearful Colours! see, where Oxford comes!

Oxf.
Oxford! Oxford! for Lancaster!

Glo.
The gates are open, let us enter too.

K. Edw.
So other foes may set upon our backs.
Stand we in good array; for they, no doubt,
Will issue out again and bid us battel:
If not, the city being of small defence,
We'll quickly rouze the traitors in the same.

War.
O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help. Enter Montague, with Drum and Colours.

Mont.
Montague! Montague! for Lancaster.

Glo.
Thou, and thy brother both, shall buy this treason
Ev'n with the dearest blood your bodies bear.

K. Edw.
The harder match'd, the greater victory;
My mind presageth happy gain and Conquest. Enter Somerset, with Drum and Colours.

Som.
Somerset! Somerset! for Lancaster.

Glo.
Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset,
Have sold their lives unto the House of York,
And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold. Enter Clarence, with Drum and Colours.

War.
And, lo! where George of Clarence sweeps along,
Of force enough to bid his brother battel:
With whom an upright zeal to Right prevails
More than the nature of a brother's love.
Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick call.— [A Parley is sounded; Richard and Clarence whisper together; and then Clarence takes his red Rose out of his Hat, and throws it at Warwick.](21) ^note

Clar.
Father of Warwick, know you, what this means?
Look, here, I throw my infamy at thee:

I will not ruinate my father's House,
Who gave his blood to lime the stones together,
And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou, Warwick,
That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural,
To bend the fatal instruments of war
Against his brother, and his lawful King?
Perhaps, thou wilt object my holy oath:
To keep that oath were more impiety,
Than Jepthah's, when he sacrific'd his daughter.
I am so sorry for my trespass made,
That, to deserve well at my brother's hands,
I here proclaim my self thy mortal foe:
With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee,
(As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad,)
To plague thee for thy foul mis-leading me.
And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defie thee,
And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.
Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends:
And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults;
For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.

K. Edw.
Now welcome more, and ten times more belov'd,
Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate.

Glo.
Welcome, good Clarence, this is brother-like.

War.
O passing traitor, perjur'd and unjust!

K. Edw.
What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town and fight?
Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears?

War.
Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence:
I will away towards Barnet presently,
And bid thee battel, Edward, if thou dar'st.

K. Edw.
Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way:
Lords, to the field; St. George and victory! [Exeunt. March. Warwick and his Company follow.

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